


Walls that Hold me Here

by Gedry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandoned Dean Winchester, College, Demon Roommate, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 09:55:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13292394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gedry/pseuds/Gedry
Summary: The night Sam left for college had been the worst night of Dean’s life.  Losing his mother had been painful, but Dean had at least harbored a sense of pride at how he had managed to save Sam from the flames.





	Walls that Hold me Here

The night Sam left for college had been the worst night of Dean’s life. Losing his mother had been painful, but Dean had at least harbored a sense of pride at how he had managed to save Sam from the flames. 

Childhood also has a way of making some of his memories blurry around the edges. 

The night Sam left them, Dean had been frozen between a rock and a hard place. Sam deserved his own life; Dean wanted him to have it more than he had ever wanted anything for himself. But it went against everything their father had taught them, everything Dean had been raised to believe, and he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t prepared enough yet to let Sam go the way he wanted to. 

He hadn’t expected Sam to want him to come with him. He’d never seen that coming at all. Dean had been working on a plan in his head since Sam was a junior in high school. He was going to work it out with Dad, make allowances, try to keep their hunting close to whatever school Sam picked for college and set up something like a semi-permanent home so Dean could let Sam have his life and still be a part of it. 

Dean remembered Bobby Singer had a home and he hunted. They could, too. 

He hadn’t counted on Sam wanting to be away from their father so badly, or how deeply the wounds between his Dad and his brother were infected. 

In the end Sam couldn’t stay, and Dean couldn’t go. Part of him died that night. 

He’d never fought with his father so much as he had right after Sam left. Dean was so angry, so lost. It’s nothing short of a miracle that neither of them died hunting. They were exhausted, heartsick or drunk at any given time, but something must have been watching over them; they were never seriously hurt. 

Sam never called, never tried to contact either of them, and every day Dean didn’t hear from him the angrier he got--angry at himself, at Dad, at Sammy, angry at God for this being his life when Dean used to have dreams too. He never said them out loud because he knew they were never going to happen, but the life that Sam wanted to have….Dean wanted something similar. He knew he was never going to get it, and he had been willing to give up hope totally if it meant Sam would get his chance. 

Now he has no Sam, no future, nothing. 

Dean’s ready to call it quits. 

He’s not sure why he decided to go behind his father’s back and track his brother down after months of silence. Something in Dean’s gut just kept telling him Sam needed him, so he finally caved and did some searching. 

Sam had been surprisingly easy to find. He had been talking about Stanford so much Dean knew where to look, but finding his younger sibling in a sea of freshmen at a college university was a daunting task. 

Dean doesn’t think he’s ever felt more uncomfortable than he did the first time he stepped on campus. Like a big neon sign was flashing over his head _this guy doesn’t belong here!_

But he managed to find Sam’s dorm, and spent the next week learning his brother’s schedule. 

Dad thought he was solo-hunting a werewolf two states over, but what the hell? Dean’s grown and he’s starting to understand his father isn’t the Almighty. 

Sam looked….good actually. He looks taller, Dean thought, than a few months ago when he stormed off into the night. Less pale, too. College looked good on him. 

Sam had friends, Dean noticed, over the week he spent observing. He smiled a lot, laughed in this way he never did when he was with Dean and their father. It looked like a weight had been lifted off his brother’s chest and Dean was relieved, hurt, angry, and grateful. 

Sam doesn’t miss him. Sam doesn’t feel the pain of being apart like Dean does. Sam’s happier away from him than he ever was when they were together. 

Dean’s the needy freak in their relationship. Dean’s the one that can’t let go. Dean’s the one hiding in the shadows while his brother _lives._

Dean packed his things and headed out to meet up with his father. He buried himself in hunting and doesn’t come up for air for nearly three months. 

*****

Sam still has trouble sleeping. He’d initially played it off as being the bed, or the room, or the light from the street lamp in the quad outside his dorm room window. 

But it’s not the presence of any of these things that makes it impossible for him to sleep. It’s the absence of one thing…Dean. 

The noise of his roommate breathing should be a good substitute, but the guy just breathes….wrong. 

How petty is that? He’s _wrong_ in all kinds of ways to the point that Sam can barely find sharing a room with him tolerable, even though it’s much more space than he ever had with his brother. Seth’s a good guy, too. He’s funny and smart, he’s geeky enough to appreciate some of Sam’s humor and laid back enough he doesn’t really comment on some of Sam’s odder habits, like always looking over your shoulder, or triple checking the locks on the doors, things so hard to let go of after a life time of living as a hunter. Sam’s relieved with his luck in roommates. They’re becoming friends the longer they share a room. Everything’s great until it’s time for them to shut off the light and go to bed. Then the problem becomes apparent…

Seth is _not_ Dean. 

Dean, Dean, Dean. His not being there makes every day painful, and Sam’s not sure why. He always knew he was inappropriately attached to his big brother, but he’d never thought it was this bad. 

Sam’s had to resort to extreme measures to try and rest. He’s wrapped Dean’s favorite shirt around his pillow, and for a long time he’s been burying his face into it at night and inhaling the faint scent of his brother from the material. 

But now it only smells like Sam. He still finds some comfort in holding it close to his chest and rubbing his cheek against it in the dark, but not nearly enough to trick him into thinking he’s curled up against Dean’s side like he used to be when they were young and the world only existed inside their current motel room. 

He ended up downloading all of Dean’s favorite music to his iPod and using that to lull him to sleep at night. That lasted about two weeks before Sam started getting edgy again. He’s exhausted and tempted to take something to help him rest. But he needs to study, needs to focus. 

Sam gave up everything important to him so he could have this chance, and he can’t fail. In some ways he feels like if he doesn’t make it through college, then he’ll be failing Dean, too. 

At least if he had to lose his brother to have a life, he can live a life his brother would be proud of him for living. 

That has to count for something, right?

*****

He’s not sure what makes him go back. Dean hadn’t planned on continuing to stalk Sam throughout his college years. 

But he finally decides he needs to at least make sure Sam is as safe as he can be, and then he’ll let it go and give his brother the distance that seems to make Sam so happy. 

He brings the salt with him, stashed up against his chest under his leather jacket as he walks into Sam’s dorm like he’s supposed to be there. 

The maintenance closet is easy enough to locate and break into. Then it’s just a simple matter of grabbing a can of paint and heading to his brother’s room. 

Sam’s gone home with his roommate for the weekend. Dean watched them pack the car up this morning. He hadn’t been planning on staying around, but Sam being gone gives him an opportunity. Dean’s got two days to get the room ready and get out without Sam ever knowing he was there. He slides the windows open and locks the door to the bathroom so no one comes in. Thankfully there’s a breeze and it’s cooling off outside due to Fall rolling in. Dean slides off his jacket, sets down the salt and pries the lid off the paint can. 

At least they painted the whole dorm the same color. If they hadn’t, this would have been a lot more complicated. 

He runs his hands along the wall next to the window and tries not to think about Sam touching the same spot. There’s an echo of his brother here in this room that makes Dean’s chest constrict. He misses Sam so much more than he’d realized. 

Dean shakes off the memories threatening to crowd his mind and pours the salt into the paint, stirring before he starts applying the mixture to the frame and wall around the window then around the doors to the bathroom and the hallway. Once it’s dry the salt will be sealed in by the paint, and Dean knows Sam won’t have to worry about anything slipping into his room. 

Or rather, _Dean_ won’t have to worry about it. Sam seems to have forgotten all about his hunting skills. There’s not a single ward in the entire room. 

Something inside Dean roars at the fact, something deep and primal that screams out his brother isn’t safe without him, needs him, something telling Dean to stay, to protect what’s his. 

Dean’s not sure he has the right to even think that anymore. 

Maybe he never had the right in the first place. 

Once the painting’s done, Dean spends the rest of the first night slowly prying up the ancient linoleum tiles that make up the floor of Sam’s dorm room. He needs to complete the salt barrier and plans to add some wards under the floor so Sam, and everyone else, won’t know they exist. 

It’s a painstaking process. Whatever they used to glue the shit down forty years ago is still holding on tight, and Dean’s got to be as quiet as he can or he’s going to get busted. He’s sure Sam would just love having to explain to the university why his clearly insane older brother was ripping the floor up in his dorm room. 

It takes him until the sun comes up the next morning to get all of the tiles free. By then, Dean’s arms are shaking from the effort and his back is screaming at the position he’s been in on the floor. He’s thirsty, hungry, and exhausted. He should go back to his hotel to sleep it off, but he doesn’t want to leave. Dean turns tired eyes to Sam’s bed, covered with his too-worn blanket folded with military precision, and bites at his bottom lip while he contemplates his options. 

In the end, there’s nowhere else he would rather be. So he tugs off his filthy shirt, slips into the bathroom connecting his brother’s room with the one next door and jams the adjoining door so no one else can come in while he runs the water in the sink and cleans himself off as much as he can. 

It’s Friday night, or rather really early Saturday morning. Dean has heard the neighbors rolling in just an hour ago, clearly still drunk. He figures no one will notice him cleaning up a little bit. 

Once he’s done he goes back into Sam’s room and pulls down the blinds before sliding out of his jeans and boots and pulling back the covers on the bed. He slips in between the sheets wearing just his boxers, inhaling the scent his brother has left behind. Dean’s body’s response is immediate relaxation, and Dean’s so tired he doesn’t notice anything strange about the pillow other than it feeling softer than the sheets before his eyes slip shut and he’s sleeping. 

He wakes slowly many hours later. Dean rolls sleepily over in the bed and reaches out his arm to shove at Sam’s shoulder. They need to wake up now, or Dad’s going to get pissed. When his hand connects to the wall, Dean snaps back into reality and he jerks his way out of the bed in a foul temper, all peaceful memories of his sleep forgotten in the face of what’s really going on. 

He grabs a can of soda and a granola bar out of his backpack. He hates them; they taste like cardboard, but he’s hungry and he has a lot of work to do today if he plans to be gone before Sam comes back. Dean wants a beer, a burger, a shower, and to get the hell out of this room. Or maybe to never have to leave. 

He’s conflicted, and it pisses him off to no end. 

He likes things simple--it’s easier that way--and things with Sam never are. 

It takes Dean until midnight to get the room put back together, but when he’s done he has a moment of pride. It’s probably the best security job he’s ever done. No one would be able to tell the room has been protected. Hell, _Sam_ won’t even know. 

Dean can slip out into the night, get in the car right now, and be a state away by the time Sam wanders unsuspectingly back into his dorm. 

Dean even goes back to his hotel to shower and pack his stuff. But something rubs him wrong as he gets ready to point the car toward the highway. There’s an itch he just has to scratch, so for no understandable reason, Dean turns the car around and heads to Sam’s still-empty dorm room. 

He slips back inside and sits down on his brother’s bed with sigh. Once he’s sitting, it still doesn’t feel like enough so he flops backwards in a sprawl and reaches up to tug Sam’s pillow down to hug against his chest. 

That’s the moment he realizes Sam’s been sleeping with Dean’s favorite shirt wrapped around his pillow. 

Dean’s been looking all over for this shirt, too. 

His brief flare of irritation gives way to a sense of wonder as he smoothes his hands over the fabric slowly, like a caress. 

Maybe he’s not the only one feeling this terrible sense of longing. Maybe Sam misses him as much as he misses his brother. 

Wouldn’t that just be a wonderful thing? Dean can hardly think it with out tears springing into his eyes. 

Having found the shirt, Dean loses all sense of propriety. He goes through every last bit of Sam’s stuff looking for more things that Sam may have snuck away with. He finds Sam’s old cell phone, still fully charged even though it’s out of service. There are all kinds of pictures on it that Dean never knew about. Shot after shot of himself when he never knew Sam was taking a picture. Most of them are from Sam’s senior year in high school and the summer just before he left. 

Like Sam knew he’d be leaving and he was trying to capture as much of Dean as he could before he was gone. 

Dean wishes he had taken more pictures of Sam. 

In a small bag tucked away in the back of Sam’s closet, he finds an old belt he used to wear a few years ago. There’s nothing wrong with it, it’s not broken the way Sam had told him it was when Dean had been looking for it and Sam had said he threw it away. Tickets to all the concerts they went to together are also there, some stupid Post-it note Dean had left stuck to their motel room door one night when he had gone off with Dad on a hunt and left Sam behind because of school. Scrawled in his lazy, loopy handwriting only barely visible now: _Out with Dad. Be back soon. Study, I’ll know if you don’t._

He stuffs everything back where he found it and lies back on Sam’s bed, trying to process what it all means. 

Sam misses him, too. 

The silence of the night eats away at Dean, and for a distraction more than anything else, he turns on his brother’s iPod and hits play. He’s expecting some random, crappy hippy music to come blaring out the head phones as he puts them in his ears. Instead, to his shock, the smooth sounds of Zeppelin begin. He clicks through the play list and discovers every single song on it is something he counts as his favorite music. Sam must have recreated it from memory. 

Dean rolls onto his side in the bed. He reaches down and drags an armful of Sam’s sheets and blanket up to bury his face in as he sobs. 

Somehow, knowing Sam is missing him too makes the pain that much worse. 

*****

Sam comes in from his trip ready to drop into his bed and sleep for a week. It’s late, Seth’s mother kept them as long as she could before she finally let them head back to school, and Sam has an early Monday morning class to deal with. He throws open the door to his room and drops his bag on the ground at the foot of his bed. 

Seth slams to a halt at the doorway and peers inside warily. 

“Something wrong?” Sam asks when his roommate doesn’t follow him inside. 

There’s something funky about the look Seth gives him that Sam can’t place, but then the other guy is stepping back and shaking his head as he murmurs, “I’m going to go catch up with the girlfriend, Sam. I’ll catch you later.”

Sam shrugs, “Suit yourself, man. See you tomorrow.” 

It’s not unusual for Seth to spend the night over at his girlfriend’s dorm. Sam doesn’t think anything else about it. 

He heads to the bathroom, gets cleaned up, takes a leak. He’s planning to just fall face-first into his pillow when he notices something’s not right with his bed. 

There’s a package on it, and Dean’s shirt is missing from his pillow. 

Sam’s heart pounds and he has to sit down when the room starts spinning. He’s overwhelmed with a need to dig through the rest of his belongings to make certain nothing else has been taken. It’s bad enough someone stole his brother’s shirt. He forces himself to exhale as he rips open the package and finds a note inside. 

_Sammy,_

_I can’t believe you stole my shirt, you sneaky little shit._

_And my belt, and all those pictures you took of me when I wasn’t looking. We’re going to pretend I didn’t play your iPod._

_You really are a girl, you know that? Mom and Dad should have named you Samantha._

_Well, I’m taking the shirt back. It’s mine and I really like it. I don’t want you to cry big fat tears over it though, so I’m leaving you this one instead. I’ve been wearing it the whole weekend so it probably really stinks. You deserve it._

_Also, don’t bother looking for that hideous paisley thing you call a shirt, I took it with me. If you get to have one of mine, then I get to have one of yours. Fair is fair._

_Anyway, I’ll be around off and on to swap out our laundry._

_I miss you, too, Sammy._

_Dean_

Sam yanks the shirt out of the paper package so fast the bag slides across the room and under Seth’s bed. Sam doesn’t care, he’s bunching the shirt in his hands up between his fingers like a cat kneading something before burying his face into the material and inhaling Dean’s smell off the fabric. 

Something dark and sad inside him loosens and Sam strips off his clothes and slides into his bed, pressing, the shirt to his face as he settles. 

It does stink. 

Sam doesn’t care. 

He’s got a tiny piece of his brother back, and he’s not letting go. 

He sleeps like the dead and is late for class in the morning. Sam still can’t wipe the smile off his face. 

Seth never comes back to their room, as far as Sam can tell. A few weeks after their return from the trip to see his parents, his sister comes and gathers his belongings up for him. Sam tries to ask if he’s okay, but his sister just shakes her head slowly before she leaves. 

Sam ends up keeping his room as a single for the rest of the year. He lives in the shittiest dorm on campus and no one wants to move here, even if they do hate their roommate. Slowly, Sam spreads out to take up all the space. He uses the other bed as a couch mostly, and enjoys the fact that he can do whatever he feels like doing without bothering anyone. 

But Sam’s never really been alone before, and the empty echo of his thoughts around the four walls of his room makes him wish more than anything that his brother was here. 

A month after Dean traded shirts with him the first time, Sam comes back to his room after his shift at the school cafeteria and finds the shirt Dean stole from him on his bed along with a different shirt--Dean’s worn out Led Zeppelin t-shirt that he refuses to get rid of. Sam’s giddy with the joy of it, but sad there’s no note this time. 

Then he notices Dean stole his jacket, and he laughs. That thing has to be two sizes too big on his brother. 

Sam starts trying to find a way to communicate. He knows he can’t exactly send Dean a letter, and calling is too risky. If Dean’s with Dad and Sam calls, he’ll have to speak to him or Dean will have to lie. 

Dean hates lying to their father, and Sam figured his trips to check on him are probably odd enough to be causing some friction already. 

He leaves notes out on his bed every time he leaves the room. Weeks go by and nothing is disturbed when he comes back. Eventually, Sam has to get a shoe box to put the notes in because they’re making a huge mess all over his bed. 

Still nothing after another month goes by, and Sam’s starting to get scared. Dean could have been hurt, could have been killed. Would their dad tell him if something happened to Dean? Sam’s ashamed to admit he’s not sure. 

Then one night he’s coming home from the library across campus. It’s raining, cold, and he’s soaked. A car skids to a stop in front of him as he’s crossing the street--some beat up piece-of-shit thing that Sam seriously thinks about kicking the crap out of until the driver’s door opens and his brother’s head pops out. 

Dean, right here. 

“Get in the car, Sammy,” Dean growls. “You’re gonna get sick walking around in this shit.” 

He obeys on autopilot, sliding into the front passenger seat and slamming the door shut behind him. He shudders, watching Dean sit back down on the driver’s side and put the car in drive. Sam never takes his eyes off his older brother until Dean’s pulling up in the back parking lot of his dorm. 

“Go get warmed up,” Dean says gruffly as his hands clench and release of the steering wheel repeatedly. 

“Come with me,” Sam manages to force out from behind his chattering teeth. 

Dean’s eyes shut like Sam’s asked him to do something physically painful. “I can’t, Sam.”

“Why not?” Sam asks, desperation digging a whole in his soul. Dean’s going to leave him again. 

“I can’t go up there with you,” Dean answers. “I can’t be there when you’re there. It’s not fair for you to ask me to do that.”

“I didn’t ask you to come here,” Sam points out, his heart hardening in his chest from his brother’s rejection. “I didn’t ask you to stop for me tonight. You did that on your own.”

“I know that!” Dean snaps, finally turning to look him full in the eye. Sam’s shocked by the depth of hurt he sees there. “Don’t you think I know that? I’m not stupid.”

Sam doesn’t answer, focused totally on the way Dean’s eyes twitch before a single tear slips free onto his cheek. Then Sam does the only thing he can think of doing. 

He jerks open the car door and flees out into the rain. 

It’s a jog up the back steps to get into the building. Sam’s taking them two at a time, wiping at the tears in his eyes, and decides to cut across the grassy side of the hill the rest of the way to limit his exposure to the rain. That’s when Dean slams into him, knocking them both to the grass and into the mud. 

“You don’t get to run out on me again,” Dean sobs at him and he slams his hands against Sam’s back. “This time it’s my turn.” 

Sam bucks his hips, throwing Dean off and scrambles on top of his brother, shaking Dean by his jacket so hard his back slams into the wet ground again and again. “I _never_ ran out on you,” Sam barks. “I begged you to come with me. I begged you! _You_ wouldn’t come. This is all your fault!” 

Dean punches him in the face, knocking Sam backwards onto the ground. Neither of them moves for a moment, and Sam’s pretty sure he can feel mud sliding up the back of his shirt. “I wanted to come with you,” Dean pants. “If I could, Sammy, I would always pick you.” 

Sam doesn’t turn to look at him, but he’s certain he knows the exact moment Dean slides away. 

*****

Dean doesn’t go back to their father after that. He’s pretty sure Dad knows he’s been tracking Sam all this time, but he doesn’t want a confrontation about it. With as stripped raw as he feels right now, there’s just no other way it could go down. 

Dean wants to fight, wants to hit something until it bleeds and his bones crack. Wants to keep punching until there’s no room left in his brain for the emotional pain he feels because the physical part is too strong. 

If he sees his father he’ll hit him, and then keep hitting him for not making Sam stay, or for forcing him to go. For not loving them enough to do right by them, for just being a really shitty dad. 

He hates himself a little for even thinking it. 

So instead, he heads away from Sam and keeps as far under his father’s radar as he can. Dean hunts his way across the western part of the United States in a bloody path that speaks to a man looking for punishment, seeking pain. 

He eats, sleeps, hunts, and drives. Dean doesn’t answer his phone even when Dad calls. He doesn’t stay in one place more than strictly necessary to finish the job. On good nights he picks up coffee from the last gas station on the edge of town. On the bad ones he drives to the next state over covered in blood, shaking with adrenalin and exhaustion. 

He blinks at himself in one of a hundred motel bathroom mirrors as he’s stitching up a gash on the side of his face. He looks old, worn, like someone who was murdered and brought back wrong. 

When he sleeps he dreams about Sam--not the kinds of dreams he’s used to having, where he’s protecting his little brother or they’re sneaking around behind Dad’s back to have some fun. These dreams are a million times better and worse than that. 

Dean dreams about being in Sam’s bed, about leaning down over his brother’s naked body and claiming him with kisses designed to make Sam arch and moan against his mouth. Dean dreams about long, strong fingers sliding down his back and over his hips where they squeeze and twist him into position. 

He dreams about Sam looking at him with the singular focus Dean knows he posses when he’s doing something really important. Dean wants to be important to Sam. Dean wants to be everything to Sam. 

He wakes up hard most of the time, sometimes he wakes up fisting the sheets as he comes. It makes him feel filthy, guilty, and wrong. 

So fucking lonely and even more ashamed. 

He stops sleeping as much as he can to avoid the dreams; lives off caffeine and whatever stimulants he can find. He figures if he can avoid the situation in his fucked-up brain for a little while, he’ll stop being such a freak and just go back to normal. It’s a mistake, and when Dean Winchester slips up…he slips up big time. 

*****

Sam spends Thanksgiving break in a different dorm with all the other students that can’t go home for one reason or another. He’s still the only one that just doesn’t have a home to go to. A fact that makes him spend the break wandering the hallways trying to find something to occupy his time. 

He finds a ghost instead. A college freshman who haunts the hallways of the dorm she died of alcohol poisoning in ten years ago. He has to steal a car and drive five hours to get to her grave, but he manages to dig her up and salt and burn her on his own. She wasn’t hurting anyone, but Sam hurts and ending her was enough to distract him from his pain for a while. 

The whole way home he thinks about how much easier it was when Dean was with him. 

The holiday goes by without much fan fair, and Sam trudges back to his dorm room Sunday grinding his teeth. Going on a hunt on his own left him raw and edgy in a way he hasn’t been since he started school. It just reminded him of what his life used to be, what he isn’t a part of any more. 

He slams his way into his dorm room and finds his brother on his bed.

Dean’s battered, bleeding, and stone-cold drunk. 

“What happened to you?” Sam gasps as his brother blinks up at him from the bed. 

“Nothing,” Dean slurs. “Everything…you. You happened to me.” 

“Nice, Dean,” Sam sighs as he drops his stuff and goes over to try and haul his drunken brother into an upright position before the puking starts. 

“Don’t touch me,” Dean complains, but once Sam has him sitting up, Dean leans forward as Sam bends to unlace his shoes to rub his face against the back of Sam’s head while he murmurs, “Smell so good, Sammy. You smell like home. Why can’t I find home anywhere but you?”

Dean’s hand slides over the back of Sam’s neck and Sam freezes. 

Dean’s burning up. 

“Are you sick?” he asks as he shoves Dean away and grabs his face to hold him steady and look him in the eye. Dean’s eyes are bloodshot, his skin is tacky to the touch, and he’s radiating heat. 

“In the head,” Dean snorts, reaching up his left hand to point toward his forehead. It’s caked with dried blood. 

“Oh, fuck, Dean,” Sam breathes out as he grabs his brother’s hand and tugs up on his jacket sleeve until he sees the edges of what looks like an infected wound. “What have you done?” 

“Messed up, Sammy,” Dean whispers. “Why am I so messed up?” 

Sam cuts his brother’s clothing off, it’s easier than trying to undress him in his current state. He bodily lifts Dean off his bed and carries him into the bathroom. Once they’re in he locks the door to the adjoining room and forces Dean into the tiny shower, cranking on the cold water. 

Dean bucks and twists against the onslaught of freezing water from the showerhead, but Sam holds him steady, forces him to settle. They really need a bathtub for this to be totally effective, but short of carrying Dean to the car and breaking into a motel, they don’t have any other options. Sam’s out of cash until he gets paid Friday. 

“Why?” Dean gasps against his neck as Sam presses him into the tiles and scrubs his way along his back as clinically as he can. 

“Why what?” Sam snaps as he watches the water in the floor of the shower run brown then bright red as uncared-for wounds on his brother come open. 

“Why’re you hurting me?” Dean questions. “Why do we always hurt each other?” 

“Dean,” Sam sighs, rough strokes of the washrag gentling as his irritation evaporates. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to take care of you.” 

“Supposed to be the other way around,” Dean mutters, but he starts to shakily take his own weight, holding himself up against the wall. 

“Not always,” Sam says softly. 

He washes Dean in silence after that, slowly rinsing away dirt and blood to reveal the damage underneath. Dean’s left thigh has a puncture wound that looks red, but isn’t hot to the touch. His chest is riddled with scratches, some of them look infected. The thing that gives Sam the most worry is Dean’s arm. The gash is wide enough to require stitching, and inflamed enough that Sam knows a wash in the shower isn’t going to be enough to clean it up. Dean’s in for a painful night as Sam repairs the damage to his body. He just hopes his brother is drunk enough to not remember it all. 

Once Dean is clean and they’re both shivering from the cold spray, Sam hauls him out of the shower and settles him on the spare bed in his room. Dean flops down without a sound, and Sam digs around in his closet until he comes up with his first aid kit. 

It’s not the typical kind, not something you buy at Wal-Mart. It’s one of the few items Sam kept from his hunting days, and now he’s glad he did. He forces Dean to take the antibiotics he finds inside. They’re expired, but it’s better than nothing. He can get new ones tomorrow. For good measure he pumps Dean full of enough Ibuprofen and Tylenol to put down an elephant, but he’s got to break the fever or they’re going to the hospital, and he has no clue how to explain this. 

“Dean,” Sam says as he leans over his brother’s body. “I’m going to have to clean your arm. Do you understand?”

He’s relieved beyond belief when Dean makes blurry-but-clear eyed contact with him and nods as he shifts on the bed so his arm hangs over the side. 

It would be easier on Sam if he sat up, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. At least Dean’s cooperating. 

Sam turns the radio up as loud as he can without getting a noise violation and then puts a pillow over Dean’s face to muffle his screams. Then he grabs the trash can, holds Dean’s arm over it, and pours vodka from his party stash into the open wound. 

It’s bad. Dean’s body contorts and jerks and Sam finally has to resort to climbing on top of him to hold him still. The pouring gives way to a vodka-soaked rag pressing against the sides of the cut to force out any puss that might be inside. Sam lets out a huge breath of relief when it’s over. 

He can’t believe his brother didn’t pass out. 

Sam eventually decides to pack the wound. It’s too late to stitch it, anyway, but something needs to be done with it or the risk of infection will be too high. Sam does what he can and wraps up Dean’s arm. He cleans the cuts on his chest and, after careful prodding, wraps Dean’s ribs just in case some of them are broken. His thigh is bandaged, and after Sam is finally done he’s relieved that Dean feels cooler to the touch. 

His eyes, though pain-filled, are clearer. 

“Come on,” Sam whispers as he shoves Dean slowly closer to the wall and slides into the bed with him. “Let’s get some sleep.”

Sam’s reaching up to shut off the radio when Dean murmurs, “I should be on the outside; supposed to protect you.” 

“Not always,” Sam assures him as he gives into impulse and tucks Dean against his chest. “Not today.”

“Don’t wanna sleep,” Dean mumbles a few minutes later. 

“Why not?” Sam asks as he rubs his hand against the back of Dean’s head, enjoying the feel of his brother’s hair against his palm. 

“I dream,” Dean whispers, already half in and half out of sleep. “Dream about doing bad things with you.” 

Sam tenses, but his brother’s already asleep. He runs his thumb down Dean’s cheek in a simple caress that he could pass off as innocent. Until he leans forward and presses his lips against Dean’s sleeping mouth. 

Dean’s not the only one who’s been dreaming. 

*****

“I mean it, Sammy,” Dean snaps from the bed. “You’ve got to let me out of here. I’m going crazy.” 

Sam shrugs. “You can leave any time you want,” he says, and smirks, “as soon as you can walk out on your own.” 

Dean’s jaw clenches in anger but it has very little impact on Sam, who just looks at him with that face he gets when he knows Dean’s just bitching to bitch. 

They both know Dean doesn’t want to leave. 

Three days into his stay, and Dean thinks maybe it’s been the best three days of his life. His fever broke in the middle of the night, and Sam went out to get him some more antibiotics. What’s a little prescription fraud when it comes to your brother’s well being, after all?

Since then Dean’s been hiding out in Sam’s room, and Sam’s been keeping his regular schedule. But when they’re together, it’s been like it was when they were kids. They fight over what’s on the television, eat shitty food not really safe for human consumption, play video games, tease each other endlessly. 

Sam tells his suitemates Dean’s a potential new roommate and no one questions him. They don’t look enough alike for people to immediately peg them as brothers. 

At night, they sleep in the same bed. Dean doesn’t question it when Sam slides over to make room for him in the twin that shouldn’t be able to hold them both. Dean curls up next to Sam’s longer body and they…talk. 

It’s easier in the darkness. 

Sam tells him haltingly about what he did after he left them. About how he made his way to Stanford, and how he spent a lot of nights with nowhere to sleep. He tells Dean about how much he wanted to call Dean and beg him to come get him. But he knew how much he had hurt Dean by leaving, and how he thought maybe he would never forgive him for it. 

Dean tells him about how angry he was and how hollowed-out he still feels inside. He talks about losing his sense of purpose, and feeling lost out in the world without his brother. He tells Sam, finally, about the dreams he used to have for his own life and how it’s clear now those things will never come to be. 

They share laughter and tears over the next few days, and by the time Sam is breathing deeply against the side of his neck on the fourth evening, Dean realizes he’s fallen in love with this man that used to be his kid brother. 

He’s terrified by the idea. But truth be told, he’s never slept better in his life than he’s slept the last few days, and he’s more relaxed than he’s ever been before. He feels good, content…like he’s come home. 

So, of course, Dean has to try and ruin it. It’s his nature to take good things and break them apart. 

On the fifth day he’s snappy, bitching every time he and Sam are standing in the same room. But the baiting gets him nowhere, Sam just looks at him like he expected this to happen, like he was just enjoying the time while he could and knew it wasn’t going to last. 

Fuck, it makes Dean so angry. 

Sam’s body is a taught line of tension beside him when they go to bed early that night. Too mush snapping back and forth and angry feelings to make staying up any later worth it. Dean stares up at the ceiling of Sam’s room while his gut twists in discomfort. All he wants to do is roll over and press himself into Sam’s warmth. Wrap his arms around Sam’s middle and bury his nose against his back until his scent lulls Dean into slumber. 

He’s not going to touch him. He’s got to get out of here. 

It’s like Sam can hear him thinking. His little brother rolls over, slinging a too-long leg over Dean’s hips. Sam’s hand lands in the center of Dean’s chest as his weight presses Dean into the bed. “You’re going to give me this before you leave,” Sam grinds out through clenched teeth. 

Then, before Dean can ask him what the hell he’s talking about, Sam’s lips clamp down over his so hard their teeth clink. 

Oh. 

Oh, God. 

Dean’s twisting under the weight, trying to push his brother off. He wants this….so much. But the level of wrong, the idea of breaking this last, strained bond he has with Sam is too much. 

“I know you’re leaving,” Sam pants into his ear when Dean jerks his face away. “I can see it all over you. You’re going to go, and you might never come back. This is my only chance, Dean. I know you think it’s wrong, I know you’ll hate me for it, but I need to have a part of you with me, I need tonight in case we don’t ever get another. Please, Dean.” Sam’s voice wavers on something that sounds suspiciously like a sob, and Dean’s resolve cracks. “I love you, Dean.” 

It’s not like he’s dreamed it…his body’s too damaged for Dean to roll them over and pin his brother down. It’s not going to be the way Sam wants it either, Dean knows it as he starts tugging on Sam’s shirt and jerking on his pants. When Dean leaves, it will be him driving off with a part of Sam inside him, Sam doing the claiming tonight. 

He doesn’t mind at all. 

There’s a mad rush to get out of their clothing but, once it’s done thing turn into a gentle exploration. In the dim light of the moon coming through the window, Sam eases Dean down onto his back in the sheets and slides his lean, long body against his like it’s always belonged there. Maybe it has, maybe Dean’s body learned how to carve out a place for Sam a long time ago, no matter what his size. 

His little brother can kiss too, smooth and wet with just a hint of challenge in his tongue as Dean opens for him. It’s just how Dean likes it. Sam makes him work for it like he was made for Dean. His knee works its way between Dean’s thighs and he parts them easily, grateful for the friction. Sam’s dick sliding against his hip leaves a trail of wetness that’s already making Dean’s balls feel tight and full. 

It’s been awhile, he hasn’t dared masturbating because he kept thinking about Sam. The thought surprises a chuckle out of him at the irony of it all. The laugh runs out of his mouth and straight into Sam’s, who backs away from the kiss with a confused look on his face and asks, “What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Dean snorts as he reaches out and rubs Sam’s cheekbone with his rough thumb. “Just laughing at me being an idiot.” 

Sam turns into the caress with a pleased groan before teasing, “How do you ever stop laughing, then?”

Dean’s eyes widen, and he pulls Sam down into a punishing kiss that Sam seems to like way too much. Then Sam’s slipping downward to suck a hicky the size of Nebraska onto Dean’s neck. It rides the border of painful as he works the blood to the surface of Dean’s skin over again and again in different places. But Dean understands the meaning behind it all, the need to leave some mark behind claiming his territory. 

If Sam could only understand how much of Dean belongs to him already, there’s no need for marks on his body when the imprint of Sam is burned onto his soul. 

Then Sam dips lower, lips blazing a trail over the scratches still healing on Dean’s chest; each one of them given careful attention before Sam’s nose bumps into one of Dean’s nipples. 

He gasps at that first accidental contact. It’s quiet; most people would have missed it. Sam’s not most people though, and he purposefully nuzzles it again, making Dean’s hips jerk as he grabs for his brother’s hair. 

“That sensitive, huh?” Sam asks before sticking out his tongue and licking over Dean’s nipple without warning. 

Dean shudders and twists beneath his weight. 

“Sammy,” Dean pants. “Please.”

“Please what?” Sam asks before licking at it again. And how long is his fucking tongue anyway? Dean keeps tugging on his hair to force his head farther back. 

“I can’t,” Dean admits as he flushes pink across his chest and neck. “It’s too much. I can’t focus.”

“So don’t,” Sam counters as he leans forward, testing the grip Dean has on his hair. “There’s just me here, I know all about your big reputation. You don’t have to control this to impress me. I want to see you undone. Let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good.” 

Sam’s hair slips out of his grasp one second as Dean relaxes. The next he has his fingers buried back in Sam’s hair, holding him in place while Sam licks, sucks, and bites his way from one of Dean’s nipples to the other. It’s intense, the pleasure running a sharp edge of panic for Dean as his control slips in and out, his hears himself whimpering, whining, feels his hips rocking up into Sam’s hard body uncontrollably and it’s too much, not enough. 

He’s a little scared. 

Then Sam’s hand slides up his neck and across his cheek, two fingers press against his lips and Dean opens his mouth on autopilot and sucks them inside. Everything resets into perfection. He’s got something to focus on now and, honestly, he’s always been a little orally fixated. 

He’s not sure how long Sam works on him before his little brother finally lifts his head, Sam’s mouth puffy, his lips swollen, and eyes dark as he watches Dean suck his fingers. 

Sam pushes them a little deeper and Dean embarrasses himself by groaning like a whore around them. 

“God,” Sam says breathlessly. “You and your mouth, Dean…so good.” 

He pulls his fingers out and Dean turns immediately to nuzzle Sam’s neck as Sam trails his hand down Dean’s body. He’s already spreading his legs when Sam whispers, “Open up for me.” 

Then Sam’s fingers are right where Dean wants them, rubbing tiny circles over his hole while Dean rocks his hips back and tries to line them up so he can get them inside. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Sam murmurs into his ear. “When I was young, I used to look at you and imagine what it would be like when I grew up like you. But that’s not how it happened for me. You slid into adulthood, Dean. Fucking perfect body, you’re gorgeous; and I stumbled after you like the ugly duckling. I’m never going to be like you.” 

“Not ugly,” Dean gasps, reach out clinging to Sam wherever he can reach. “Never ugly. Just taking you a while to grow into it. Bigger than me, Sammy. Stronger than me. Going to spend the rest of my life looking up at you.” 

Sam’s fingers slide inside him then all the way to his knuckles, rubbing across Dean’s prostate as they fill him up. He’s grabbing for his dick, wrapping his fingers around the base and whining as he holds back his orgasm. “Please, Baby Boy,” Dean begs. “Don’t make me come yet.” 

He chuckles roughly as Sam fumbles around in his nightstand for the lube. 

“Boy scout,” Dean manages to tease. Sam rubs over his prostate again before tugging his fingers free and slicking them up. He’s a little ashamed of how greedily he moves into position for Sam to slide them back inside. But then Sam’s stretching him, twisting and turning, scissoring his fingers while he kisses every part of Dean’s body he can reach. 

Dean’s chanting, “Now, now, now,” when Sam finally pulls his fingers free and shoves Dean’s thighs apart and up to make room for his body. He grabs Sam’s arms as his brother thrusts his way inside. Sam’s big, so fucking big it burns even with the lube, but Dean doesn’t care. Sam’s inside him, on top of him, surrounding him. Dean belongs to Sam now. 

“You always have,” Sam whispers and Dean’s eyes well up when he realizes he’s said it out loud. 

“This isn’t wrong,” Sam growls at him when he starts thrusting. “This isn’t bad.” 

Dean’s lost, hanging by a thread to his brother’s words, his body. “We’re not wrong,” Sam says again. “I love you, Dean. In love with you, know you feel it too. Love’s never wrong.” 

Then Sam’s too-big hand is wrapping around Dean’s dick and two strokes later he’s coming, arching into Sam’s weight when he feels his brother freeze above him and flood him with warmth. 

They don’t talk when it’s over, Sam slipping out of him to bring back a towel and a rag from the bathroom and cleaning them both up so carefully. Then he slips into bed and cuddles Dean close before they sleep. 

*****

Sam wakes up to the alarm the next morning. He slides on his clothing without showering and heads out to class. They’re back to back today, and he knows Dean knows it. 

Just as surely as he knows his still-sleeping brother will be gone before he returns at the end of the day. 

Sam’s glad he’s growing his hair out. It hides the tears as he stalks his way across the quad. 

His classes are stupid. He can’t focus. 

Sam spends half the morning trying to resist the need to race back to the room and tie Dean to the damn bed; the other half of it, he spends lost in the memory of the night before, and how fucking good it had been between them. 

At least he has that much. Dean might leave him, will probably never come back now he knows how fucked up Sam is. But he’ll have last night. Nothing can take that away. 

He eats in the cafeteria over lunch. It’s closer than going back to the room, and it’s part of his routine. For some reason Sam feels compelled to stick to his schedule. Like maybe if he gives Dean enough time to get far away from him, then the distance will help dull the pain. 

Sam’s an idiot sometimes, especially when it comes to his brother. 

By three he’s pissed off and exhausted, just the right mixture to go back and face the miserable reality of his life. He unlocks his dorm room and steps inside with his eyes closed. 

When he opens them…Dean’s not there. 

Of course he’s not. Sam knew he was leaving yesterday. Last night was their kiss goodbye. 

It doesn’t stop Sam from wanting to throw up; it doesn’t stem the flow of total abject rage as it builds up inside him until he can’t stand it anymore. 

He sobs dryly, no tears in sight, as he punches the wall the first time. But once he starts it’s not enough, and he stands there pounding the wall of his room with both hands again and again until his knuckles crack and his body bleeds. 

Until his tears finally start falling and he’s a sobbing wreck of a human being. 

“Damn, Sammy,” Dean says from the doorway. “What did the wall ever do to you?”

This can’t be real. “Dean?” 

“I overslept,” Dean says as he shuts the door behind him and edges himself into the room. “Then I made a couple appointments. I stopped to get us some food. The cafeteria shit sucks. I was trying to beat you back here, but I got hung up looking for parking.”

Sam doesn’t move. It’s like he’s forgotten how. 

“Do you want me to go?” Dean blurts. “I thought maybe after last night….maybe I could stick around?” 

He takes a step back then, uncertainty showing clearly on his face. He’s going to bolt. Sam’s crossing the room in an instant and grabbing Dean by the shoulders before yanking him into his chest to hold. 

The bag Dean’s carrying drops to the floor. Sam doesn’t notice; Dean doesn’t care. “You were gone,” Sam sobs into the top of Dean’s head. 

“I’m right here,” Dean answers, running his hands up and down Sam’s back until he pulls himself together enough to pull away. 

Dean grins, and Sam’s answering smile is a little bit watery, but no one comments on it. 

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean says as he tugs Sam to toward the bathroom. “Let’s clean up your hands and then I’ll fix up the wall…again.” 

Sam gives him a weird look. Dean just shrugs as he leads the way to the bathroom. His obsession with protecting Sam is a discussion for another time. 

It’s hours later, while Sam winces as he holds a cup of soup between his battered hands, that Dean fills him in on what he was doing all day. 

“The registrar’s office says you can move off campus at the end of the semester,” Dean comments as he steps back to look at the spackle coating where Sam abused the room. 

“Why would I want to do that?” Sam asks. He’s not trying to be an idiot or give Dean a hard time, he’s just so fucking confused right now. 

Dean looks at him like he rides the short bus. “Because I’m not currently enrolled in classes and, as nice as your little corner of the world is, I would really like us to have our own bathroom instead of sharing with your suitemates. It makes shower sex so much less awkward.”

Sam knows a bluff from Dean when he sees it. “Cut the crap, Dean.”

Then his brother is sliding closer, slipping down on his knees in front of Sam to tug his cup of soup out of the way and set it to the side. His rough hands ghost over Sam’s bandaged knuckles before gripping his wrists and pulling Sam’s hands toward his mouth. There’s a moment of hesitation there, Sam’s heart banging so hard in his chest he thinks it might burst free and drop to the floor. Then Dean leans in and brushes his abused knuckles with his mouth. 

“We’re no good on our own,” Dean murmurs as he turns his face to nuzzle his cheek against Sam’s hands. “I can’t stand you not being with me, and I can’t just be your brother anymore.”

It sounds so much like goodbye Sam’s throat closes up, his eyes clench shut. 

“So I’m not going to be,” Dean finishes as he releases Sam’s hands to fish something out of his back pocket and hold it up. 

It’s a student identification card for the community college across town…..for Dean Campbell. 

“Who’s Dean Campbell?” Sam asks as he flips the card over and finds Dean’s smiling face pictured on the back. 

“I am,” Dean shrugs at Sam’s confused look. “For awhile, anyway. Everyone here already knows you as Sam Winchester. I can’t be Dean Winchester _and_ your boyfriend. So you’re now the official love interest of Dean Campbell who happens, by odd coincidence, to share your older brother’s first and middle name. It’s how we met actually, discussing how funny that was, and then we just had to be together. You found me irresistible and, after many rejections, you wore me down and I caved, agreeing to date you.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Sam huffs. Flipping the card over and smacking Dean on the forehead with it. 

“Nope,” Dean snorts as he yanks the card away and puts it back in his pocket. “I’m not officially enrolled until the spring semester. But I went into town and earned myself a job at this mechanics place by fixing a car faster than the owner. So I’ve got income. I start tomorrow, and he’s looking for someone to take over this piece of shit apartment they have over the garage at the end of the semester when the two guys living in it go home for the winter break. He cut me a deal on it out of my paycheck.” 

“You did all of this today?” Sam’s shocked. 

“Dude,” Dean huffs as he sits back on the floor. “I can accomplish a lot when I’m motivated.” 

“So, no breakdowns?” Sam asks, “No freaking out?”

“I’ve been freaking out for months, Sammy,” Dean sighs. “Besides, the smartest guy I know told me last night love is never wrong. And I love you more than I have ever loved anything.” 

He smiles up at Sam then. Dean’s real smile, one only a few people have ever seen, and even then not often enough. Sam files it away for later, for when things are hard and they’re both tired. 

“Do you really think we can get out?” he asks. 

“No,” Dean answers sadly with a slow shake of his head. “I don’t think we’ll ever really be safe. But when they come for us, Sammy, we’ll be together and we’ll be ready. That has to count for something, right?”

It counts for everything. Everything Sam’s ever believed in his whole life. 

“So,” he teases. “Dean Campbell, huh?” 

“He’s awesome,” Dean grins. “You’re going to love him.” 

“What’s he going to study?” Sam asks as he tugs his brother up off the floor. 

“Nursing,” Dean announces and Sam rolls his eyes. 

“No shit, Dean,” he huffs as he steps closer. 

“I’m serious,” Dean answers as he steps toward Sam. 

They kiss, gentle, tentative, exploring this new thing between them. Dean’s hands finds Sam’s hips and Sam cups the back of his neck, the side of his jaw. It’s good, warm, and full of promise for two people who have never been promised much of anything other than pain. 

“I don’t put out on the first date,” Sam announces when they step back, his fingers lightly pinching Dean’s ear. 

“You put out last night,” Dean points out, finger poking Sam in the chest. 

“Actually, that was you,” Sam reminds him with a smile and then a laugh as Dean blushes. 

“Don’t worry about it, Dean,” Sam teases with an arm slung around Dean’s shoulders. “You’ll get to be a Winchester again one day.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean asks as he slides his arms around Sam’s hips. 

“Sure,” Sam grins. “They have to legalize gay marriage some day.” 

*****

Sometimes it’s the smallest things that make the biggest changes. 

Sam and Dean move into the above-garage apartment at the end of the semester. It really is a piece of shit, but they don’t care. 

It takes six years for both of them to get through school and for Dean to get his nursing license. Dean sometimes complains they will be paying off their student loans until the day they die. 

Well, somebody will anyway. It’s not like Dean put his real name on the papers. 

Sam never gets introduced to Jessica, not like it would have mattered. Dean’s his whole world. 

Bobby Singer finds them five years later and gives Dean the Impala and the message that John Winchester finally caught his demon. 

It only cost him his life. 

Sam never makes cabinets move with his mind; Dean never goes to Hell, no matter how much he swears he’s going to end up there. 

Eventually Dean makes a friend at work, a really weird little guy named Castiel. He’s got shit for social skills and no sense of humor, but for some reason Dean likes him a lot, and so does Sam after he figures out that Cas isn’t trying to get into his brother’s pants. 

Sam goes to law school; passes the bar. 

He and Dean still occasionally go hunting, and sometimes shit shows up at their front door. It never stays for long when it does. 

Eventually, Dean Winchester’s name becomes something of a legend in the hunting world. Stories get made up about him going down in a blaze of glory fighting the good fight. 

Truth be told, Dean goes down a lot, but only on Sam, when he asks nicely. 

Or on Mondays, whichever happens to come first.


End file.
